Crossroads
by Oldwickedsongs
Summary: Hired to perform a job, Ethan Rayne unleashes an evil on the Slayer and her friends that has the ability to send them scrambling. The villain possesses a cruelty streak and a love of destruction that would make Angelus proud. They call him simply "Ripper"
1. Two Roads

**Disclaimer: **"If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,

That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."

-Midsummer's Night Dream

**Author Notes: **An attempt at a chaptered fic for Buffy, my first. Please read and review as I would gladly take any encouragement or pointers about how to work in this wonderful fandom. The story takes place sometime floating around in season three, after Band Candy obviously, so expect Faith and possibly Wesley…thanks and enjoy.

**Crossroads **

**By: Lady Erised**

_"Am I a thing worth saving? Am I a righteous man?"_

******Chapter One: Two Roads Diverged…**

Ethan Rayne was a man of passion, of emotions the chief among them being love. Few knew that and fewer would believe it if he told them that and indeed he would have had anyone asked. He loved easily and deeply. It had always been his downfall; at least that was what a very dear albeit very angry friend had told him once. He was told one night, over several bottles of cheap gin and rancid clove cigarettes (among other vices) that his passions threw him too easily into chaos and that if he wasn't careful he would be consumed by it. Ethan had believed it, and whole-heartedly so, the moment it had been uttered because the man who had said it was his everything. Anything Rupert Giles told him was gospel.

Ethan couldn't bring himself to care then, and in truth, couldn't now. He had always hated the idea of duty, of conformity and dumb, blind obedience to anything because of any reason. He preferred passions, and impulses and to live a life of moments: each one terrifying yes, but new and unpredictable. For his part, Giles had believed in it too or had tried, but unlike Ethan, Rupert was running from something rather then to it. Ethan's impulse to seek out all that Magick could offer him had been a love affair, for Rupert it had been an escape attempt.

For a time that was too brief for his liking, that hadn't mattered, Ethan and Rupert had connected: to each other and to their friends and created for a moment at least- something violent, powerful and united.

Then Eyghon. Then Randall. And as quickly as their friend had died and left him, Ethan woke up to discover his world, and any semblance of order or understanding in it had gone out the door with Ripper and nothing would bring it back.

Rupert Giles had left Ethan in chaos with only two options. The boy could embrace it, or be consumed by it.

As a rule, Ethan spent very little time dwelling on either the future or the past, finding no comfort in memories and no sanctum in worrying about what was unformed and unreal but the prospect of seeing his friend again- his real friend, Ripper, and not some cheap facsimile in tweed masquerading as a passive Watcher- had awaken something in Ethan, a longing to return if only for a moment to earlier times, a desire to see what might have been had things remained fluid and joined. The concept when posed to him by his employer had been enough to pique his interest.

Plus, he was being paid a lot of money.

He took the job with a smile and a handshake. Which brought Ethan to this moment, where he wiped the blood from his hands as he stood and admired his handiwork.

Craved into the floor was a detailed design that at first glance might have been a very embellished map. Runic inscriptions, some Norse, some Welsh, peppered the perimeter in red while the main design was done in black charcoal from an ash-tree, the thick trunk emblazoned with even more inscriptions that reached out with countless branches, each limb reaching and fading into the circle of Runescript.

On second glance, although not that anyone would ever see it, Ethan thought sadly as he mourned his artistic ability, one would realize that the tree itself was something else, a map yes but of a map of crossroads. It was Yggdrasil, the world tree where all the worlds and dimensions could meet and converge. He couldn't help but thinking that Rupert Giles would have appreciated both the detail of the drawing and the importance of it- that was of course, if he hadn't been pinned to the center of the tree like one-eyed Odin.

The Watcher was drifting in and out of consciousness, his mind unable to choose which was easier to cope with, the pain or the darkness. Giles was impaled through the wrists, with his arms spread out following the path of two branches. His entire body was pale and trembling. Rupert's neck was blue and purple from the feeding. The freshest wounds were still red and angry on his chest by his shoulders. The four Runes that made up the inscription were quick and Rayne had been assured Giles wasn't aware what was happening to him.

Ethan wasn't quite sure he believed that, but gave no indication that he grieved at all for the predicament he found his friend in.

The Vampire had been clear, after all, in his desire to make Giles suffer. He looked successful. It was only when Ethan had asked why didn't he just kill Giles that he got any kind of reaction from his employer.

The creature smiled, very thinly, as he returned his dagger to his pocket and stood. He was young in appearance, and had that sort of mousy discomfort that reminded Ethan of Rupert: and it was just as fake on the demon as it had been on the twenty something warlock he had met all those years ago. "It will do nothing if he's dead."

"You don't want to kill him." Ethan mused, not really caring. "But you want to give him a second chance. I must say that's rather magnanimous of you."

"Do you think this is a second chance? Do you really think this would be something he wanted? Oh no. I am merely after education." The demon laughed, chilling Ethan. "I want him to see what he is. I want all these walls and disguises he has thrown up to be torn down one by one and for him to face what kind of monster he really is."

"Then?"

The Vampire's features distorted then: brow protruding, eyes turning their sickly iodine yellow and the smile appeared to show a mouth full of sharp fangs. "Then, I'll give him a face to match his nature."

Ethan kept his features stony. "He'll destroy you, you know." He said very carefully. He made no attempt to hide the pride in those words. "If he finds out who you are, he's going to break you."

The Vampire's clear British lilt returned very simply, "He already has."

And then Ethan and Rupert were alone with the ceremony. He leaned down and brushed back Giles' brown hair, out of his face, studying his features. Giles moaned in his sleep and turned into the touch. He called for his Slayer. Ethan wondered for a moment if he was crying out for rescue or in fear.

"It's going to be over very soon." He told him, before standing and beginning the chant.

The Welsh was guttural and harsh and Ethan could feel the magick twist and bend to him. He felt it gather around his fingertips, pulsing and surging like a living thing but bound to the tree and the room by the blood and Giles' own fading life. Ethan felt very cold, suddenly, as wind that came from nowhere began to whip at his features. It blinded him, bathing the room in a pale light that shone at once red and then bright white before shifting and pushing against his magicks. He could feel the creatures of the incantation pushing at his will, trying to best him. If he hadn't been Chaos' disciple it might have worked. Instead of resisting, Ethan let the magick push through him: shaking his core as he pushed down the fear he felt. If the beasts he sought to invoke could destroy him, they would: he would not fear them. He knew of the empty places. He worshipped them.

As he thought these words, the pulse from the Magicks ripped around the room and imploded over the circle.

Then, the power receded like the waves, rippling as it pulled back some veil Ethan hadn't been aware of until just now to reveal the Three.

Only the Mother did not stand. Instead, she was sitting on the floor with Rupert's head in her lap. She looked in her thirties, tall and thick-armed; and she was staring down at Giles, her hand dancing very lightly over his hair. With her other hand, she was tugging something from his chest, about the thickness of her fingers and something that looked at first glance as a solid piece of chord. It wasn't until Ethan had moved closer that he realized it was braided like a rope.

She handed it over her shoulder without looking up to the Crone. The old woman held the chord tightly in her withered hand; she held a pair of clean bright silver shears in her other hand. Standing at the edge of Giles feet looking on with a vague impression of surprise that mirrored Rayne's own expression was the Maid.

They spoke as one, but Ethan heard three distinct voices colliding together like bird shrieks. It wasn't feminine, and it wasn't welcoming but he couldn't escape how graceful they sounded when they spoke. None of them cared to look up, but he saw each one's mouth move.

"We have been invoked by death." They said. "But it is not his time." The Crone shifted, inspecting the chord the Mother continued to pull from Rupert's chest. "We have been summoned but not by our son. Who are you to call us, Chaos kin?"

"Braided here. Entwined here. Him I see, and I am sought." The Maid suddenly chirped, it was impossible to pick her voice out of the Three, but he heard it sounding bright and solitary, she was pointing to one of the many strains that made up the rope.

Memories danced into Ethan's brain as fiercely as they had been when he had experienced them first. He saw Randall, Henry, Philip, Deirdre and even Rupert. He could feel the heaviness of the drink, and the sheer sense of freedom he got from invoking Eyghon. He could hear Rupert's laugh, Deirdre's soft skin, and his body under her…

He felt like his heart was going to break his chest. It felt so real…

"You are his." The Mother spoke now, but not to Ethan. Her lips were barely above Giles' ear. The Watcher called for his Slayer once more and he had to stifle a pang of familiar jealousy; the sort he hadn't felt in years. The Mother ignored it. She merely smiled. "Yes, hers too. You were not suppose to leave them yet."

"And he won't." Ethan called. The Magick pulsed once more, tugging through his body and pulling at his memories. He began to see things that were not his, things that did not really happen but would have. Or could have. In the circle, so close to the Three, Ethan found himself struggling to remember his purpose there, why he had summoned them, and not the countless lives he saw.

The visions were clearer here, and he saw Giles' lifetime mapped out before him. He saw Rupert dying instead of Randall, he saw him raising a family, some dark haired Gypsy cradling a newborn and looking tired and then he saw the Slayer and her friends: the life Rupert had chosen. Over Ethan, over family, over everything else.

"You called us." The Three spoke. "But for him. You do not believe in us, you rebuke us and hurt us. You are Chaos' son."

"I am."

"Not this one. He is ours…"

"Not anymore."

It was only then the Three as One looked up and studied him. Ethan felt very small. "You want to change the past." They said. "Have him follow your road…" The Crone's hand tightened around the rope, her thumb caressing one strain of the chord. Ethan felt pinned against the tree too. "For a champion of free will and emptiness…" they purred, "You are not honoring the Choice."

"I'm not being paid to." He shot back, determined not to allow the Three's strength to distract him. He let his fear pass through him, his weakness wash over him. "I'm being paid to bring back Ripper."

Giles' body shuttered. They spoke, "He doesn't want that."

"He doesn't get a say."

"We can do what you wish." The three told him. The Mother had stopped pulling the chord. The Crone had begun to run her shears against it. Only the Maid did not shift. She continued to watch, a small impish smile growing on her features. Of them all, Ethan decided he loved and feared her most. "We are bound by Yggdrasil to obey you." The Crone spoke now. "But be sure of what you ask. He knew what he was protecting you from when he fled. He could not lose you too."

And Rayne hesitated again, but only for a moment. He thought that perhaps it would be best to stop the spell now. He was vaguely certain he could make it out of Sunnydale before the Vampire even noticed that he was gone.

Of course Giles would be dead then. Without the spell, he would die. That was the rub of the spell after all. You had to be certain before you decided to mess with what the Fates had decreed. You could alter reality, and everything else by calling them but the price was a soul. Rayne didn't have to worship them to respect that. As a rule, he had a respect of anything that could not only kill him but also negate his very being.

The Fates could do that with ease and they were right: Giles had made the choice all those years ago to follow the course of events that had brought him to this room where he lay dying. Ethan had no right to change that.

But, he _was_ being paid a lot of money.

The Three seemed to sense his resolve. The Crone spoke. "Ask."

"Make it so that Rupert Giles never abandoned us when Randall died, keep him on the path of Chaos. Let him live like he would have if he had embraced the Dark." Then, and for reasons Ethan couldn't name if he was pressed to, he added. "But him alone. Leave the world as it is but change him."

Ethan became aware of the crisp snip of scissors cutting through silk. The Mother lifted her head, taking the chord from the Crone and began to wrap it around Giles's shoulders like a bandoleer. The Runes that were craved onto Rupert's chest glowed, and as they did, the chord sank back into his skin.

The Maid turned away from Giles then, from the Mother and Crone. She turned to stare at Rayne; her dark vivid eyes watching him with all the intensity and certainty of a child. "He's going to destroy you." She whispered, coolly, repeating his earlier warning. "When he sees what you have done. You were his friend."

He stopped again, staring at the prone figure on the floor. He could see the Watcher's chest moving quicker now as the chord continued to sink into him, jolting every so often as the Crone continued to scale it, weaving and undoing strains and bits and pieces of it as she handed it back to the Mother. Giles was muttering protestations and it occurred to Ethan, somewhat darkly and too late to change anything that Giles knew what was happening to him. Ethan had studied everything he could find on the spell: from the preparation to possible side effects. He made it his business to find out how to clean up the messes he made; he liked living and always sought to ensure that he remained so but nothing prepared him for that revelation. The Vampire had, not unsurprisingly, lied to him. Giles knew he was being taken somewhere else against his will. He was suffering. Just like the monster had wanted him too. Ethan tried to put himself in Giles' place, to feel what it must be like; having an entire life realigned and adjusted.

Names. Giles was not crying in pain. He was repeating names over and over; a litany from the desperate to keep _something_.

He was terrified; Ethan didn't believe it was possible for Rupert to be so.

The Maid was right. The Watcher wouldn't kill Ethan for this. He would destroy him. But then again, after tonight, the Watcher wouldn't exist anymore.

Somehow that did little to comfort him.

Gradually, the trembling stopped and with it, the names tapered off. The Three continued to wrap the rope around Giles until they too to fade from Ethan's view, evaporating like rain. The circle was disappearing, the tree and inscriptions smoldering and popping before falling into nothingness. The scars of his torture were flickering too; falling away with the memories and the Three and Ethan forced himself to watch until the last.

When it was over, Giles lay in the middle of a clean, white washed room with the only sign that something had happened in this room were four inscribed Runes on his shoulder blade that were too old to have been anything recent. The man's breathing was even, and comfortable: deep and dreamless like a drunken man's.

Ethan felt cold, and tired. He always did after spells of this intensity but there was something different in this one. Something he did not want to name so he ignored it instead, opting to pull free a pack of cigarettes from inside his coat pocket. He found a corner of the room to his liking and pressed his back against the wall.

Then, he just waited for Ripper to wake up.


	2. Black Hat

_"Yes, it's terribly simple.  
The good guys are always stalwart and true,  
the bad guys are easily distinguished by their  
pointy horns or black hats, and,  
we always defeat them and save the day..."_

**Chapter Two: Black Hat**

There was something queer about being in Giles' home when he wasn't there, Buffy thought as she loafed around the bedroom pouring the water into the numerous little potted plants that occupied windowsills and nightstands. She had never pictured Giles to be the kind of man who kept plants and if their little pitiful yellow leaves were any indication, neither did Giles. She thought, in the back of her mind usually reserved for those rare moments of study, that it would have cut a sad image: a bachelor nursing dying planets for the sheer fact he was determined not to be the only living thing in this house. But somehow, the collection of battle-axes and swords that were tucked neatly into the corner of the bedroom efficiently shattered any hint of remorse she might have had for her Watcher.

And she had used the words queer and loafed in her musings. She was right. The Watcher's house was a strange and dangerous place.

"WIL!!" She whined, her voice breaking the silence and somewhat proudly, the prefect serenity of the house. "The house is making me think funny!"

There was a pause from downstairs, before Willow's reassuring voice called up. "I'll put on a kettle. It'll soothe you."

"NOT FUNNY!"

"Little bit!" Xander chorused, giggling over his own joke before being joined by the smooth bluesy tunes of the Animals, Oz's doing no doubt.

Buffy had a sneaking suspicion that Oz had only volunteered to spend his Saturday plant-sitting for the sole purpose of gaining access to Giles' LP collection. It was like a quest for something holy; made even more elusive and sacred by the fact Giles rarely acknowledged the collection in the presence of his charges and that he all but scowled whenever he caught Oz near it. Again, she found it very funny that they had felt the need to group together for something as trivial as entering Giles' home unattended. It was silly really. What harm could one place do?

There was a crash below her feet that sent Buffy scrambling downstairs in terror.

Faith was sitting on the counter of the cramped kitchen, sharing the same expression of mute horror that was on Willow's face. Xander and Oz stared on from the haven of the living room. It was only when Buffy had appeared at the stairs base that three of them shouted in almost perfect unison, "Faith did it!"

At the sound of her name, Faith's expression of surprise turned into grim satisfaction. She possessed a kind of steely resolve that seemed to shine when she felt alone. It didn't matter if she was fighting Vampires or taking the blame for a shattered bottle, isolation made her braver. "Yep. I thought old Johnny here was evil."

Buffy stared at the broken Scotch bottle in disbelief.

"Oh don't worry." Faith continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact anything was wrong. "I think I won."

Buffy couldn't shake the feeling that this house was a dark and dangerous place and it was getting spookier. "He gave us the key to water his plants and pick up the mail." She muttered, numbly.

"He gave _you_ the key to water the plants and pick up the mail." Xander reminded her gently. "We've come to snoop."

"It's not snooping," Willow rejoined, jolted awake by the accusation that she was involved in anything wrong. "We just happen to be…"

"Looking through his personal collection of Watcher journals." Xander prodded softly.

Faith smirked, "Or his mail."

"His fridge." Oz returned.

"Or his music collection." Willow nodded, before taking in each one's guilty expressions and adding: mostly to herself in a petulant tone. "Can't help it if he has neat stuff…"

"We were supposed to water the plants." Buffy added once more.

"Oh don't fret, B." Faith said, finally pushing off the counter to attend to the mess. "It's not like he's going to miss a bottle of" She took the broken bottle in her hand, and read the label. Buffy knew almost nothing about alcohol but could tell from the mournful expression in the other Slayer's eyes that something very dear had been lost. "I doubt he really enjoys Walker Black anyways…"

"How long did Giles say he would be gone anyways?" Willow asked as she curled into a chair near the fireplace. It was Giles' seat in those rare instances he actually chose to sit with them and although it lasted only for a moment, Buffy saw the sadness in her friend's eyes.

Giles called her late two nights ago, muttering out half-formed sentences in a distant tone. She gathered that someone had died back home, and he was needed back in England. Because it was so sudden, and he had been unable to make the necessary arrangements and properly prepare her. He would leave her his keys of course, so she could have access to his library and weapons and he fully expected her to behave maturely and responsibly during his absence.

He told her to be careful and she had only found out later, he had left the same instructions (the tending to one another, not the plant feeding) to everyone else. It had filled her with both surprise and some other distant emotion she could not name to know that in the midst of his own troubles her inane ones were still his top priority.

It almost made her feel slightly guilty that she did not share in Willow's troubled expression. In truth, Buffy was relishing the idea of being unwatched for whatever matter of time despite the reason. She could almost pretend to be normal.

But Willow, by default of being Willow, was miles away with Giles- worried about the Watcher. She had a gentleness that never failed to touch anyone who spent more then ten minutes with her. The idea of Giles alone and far away- even if he was 'home'- when he could have possibly been grieving was almost unbearable. Buffy doubted she'd see her friend in a happier mood till Giles had returned to his chair.

"He didn't say." She supplied, keeping her tone gentle. She took a seat on the coffee table and then promptly moved when she saw her friend's scowl. Willow might not be Giles, but she could do a fairly good intimidation of the librarian's unhappy look. "But I'm sure he'll call soon."

"Yea." Oz continued. His expression was as calm as always, all emotion betrayed by the warmth in his eyes when he studied Willow. "And he'll be home in no time."

"Hopefully not before we replace Johnny." Faith said as she came into the living room, in her hand was a bottle of Brandy that she chugged down like water. She shrugged off Buffy's expression. "What? It was in the back…he won't notice it's gone."

"And in the meantime," Xander began, sharing a private smile with Buffy. "We can catch up on the rare and wondrous world…of absolutely nothing demonic. Tree in the forest kind of thing, if no Watcher's around, does a Slayer have to work?"

Buffy smirked."…Are we calling a time out?"

"Exactly." Xander continued. "Not to the little stuff of course, like Vampires…and Synder but the big world-ending endings…"

"I think I approve." Buffy nodded; casting one more look around the apartment " Routine patrols are dandy but no big stuff. I mean it's not like anyone new is in town anyways."

* * *

One of the few known secrets about Sunnydale (apart from sitting on a Hellmouth and being a magnet for most things malicious and supernatural) was that it had an impressive collection of very spacious and very extravagant beach houses that belonged to wealthy bankers and old money from the East. Every May, Sunnydale was inundated with said families, and every September, the town was pleased to see them go and leave the money. The finest of these homes was a four bedroom, 10-foot high ceiling number that sat on its own private beach and was surrounded on two sides by a Cypress grove and lagoon. It had been built by some Hollywood superstar who had long since forgot she owned it.

Still, it was plush and ignored by even the town's more adventurous children because of its remote location and it's proximity to a rather vicious attack on a member of the Sunnydale Swim Team a few years back.

And it had a fireplace. Ethan wanted to know why homes in Southern California felt the need for a fireplace but Ripper had wanted one. He would have preferred that the home was still occupied as well, to give him something semblance of working for his lodgings but had eventually conceded to Ethan's idea of maintaining a low profile.

At least, partially.

The door of the master bedroom opened and Ethan looked up from his make shift lunch just in time to see four teenage girls emerge in various articles of clothing that could not possibly belong to them. In fact, one of them, the blond one who had a smile that both shone and boasted, was wearing an oversized beach towel like a toga and look all the more proud that she was. Her friends were dressed in a white undershirt, a sport jacket, and a half-buttoned up shirt respectively, all of them looking somewhat embarrassed and mostly definitely proud.

They couldn't be out of high school, Ethan thought. And there was no way those were the clothes they arrived in. The blond in the toga caught him staring and favored him with could only be the smile that had caught Ripper's attention the night before. She moved to the kitchen counter, plucking the pickle spear from his plate and proceeded to suck on the end.

Yes, he knew exactly how she had earned that towel. Reaching into his coat pocket without missing a beat, Ethan pulled a fifty from the billfold and threw it at her before motioning to the door.

"The cab's called." He told them. "That should pay the fare back home…" In the distance, he heard the shower stop. "And I'm sure he was clear that you should be gone before he's dressed. Hurry along. It's almost time for school."

The blond looked for a moment like she would slap him, but the sound of moving in the bedroom seemed to change her mind. She took the note, and motioned for her friends to follow. Ethan watched her leave with a sort of pensiveness he normally tried to avoid.

"Was that really necessary?" He demanded as he heard the door open a second time.

"Necessary?" The voice was soft, sweet almost. It could have belonged to a librarian if it wasn't accompanied with that smile and the smile could have been innocuous if not accompanied by the stance and expression.

Outwardly, nothing had changed but the wardrobe. Rupert Giles had on those soft features that at first glance would have been welcoming but there was something else. Something dark around the eyes that would make a person do a double take; at first glance someone would assume it was intelligence and in that second it would take for them to dismiss him as quiet, they would lose the one chance they had at besting him. The intelligence had a feral edge to it. A playfulness danced across the smile that could just as easily have been cruel as it could have been long-suffering. "No. Desired? Nay, deserved…well, no. But I was bored and well, she had dimples."

Ethan downed the rest of his drink and looked back down. "Just be careful. We're here for a job and I for one do not intend to spend any time with Sunnydale's finest because of some statutory rape charge."

"Oh yes, we both know how terrifying the police can be." Ripper returned, he crossed to Ethan and rested his chin against Ethan's shoulder. Rayne felt a tension in his shoulders that spread to the base of his neck. Giles seemed to notice it too, because he turned his head just slightly enough that his lips were touching Ethan's ear. "…whatcha reading?"

Ethan moved away. "The newspaper."

"Any reason why…"

"It was better then hearing the moans."

"I am sorry about that, Ethan." The tone was calm, measured and lying. "If I had known we were that noisy, I would have invited you along. Then again," Again, measured- even playful, if hunters were ever playful with their game. "I know how much you hate sharing."

And there it was. The challenge. Giles contained nothing but nervous energy. He disliked standing in one place or being amused by one diversion for any extended period of time. It was what made him such a tenacious student at times, and such a violent force when kept cornered. Ethan found himself wondering how Sunnydale had managed to keep the Watcher so tame.

"Have you forgotten why we're here?" Ethan asked instead, refusing to think about the Watcher anymore then he had to. It was gone, and now what stood in his place was watching Rayne the sheer intensity of the hunter.

"I wanted to see if California wine was really all that disgusting." Ripper began, before rolling his eyes at Ethan's exasperated expression. "Oh fine. Throw your tantrum. You know you have been sullen since I got here, Ethan. What are you so concerned about?" He pulled a chair away from the bar and sat. Ethan had to look away from the gaze. "You brought me here to kill the Slayer. Didn't you?"

There was a tremor in his voice, the slightest change of tone that caused Ethan to glance if only for a moment at his friend's shoulder. His black shirt covered the Runes but there was no mistaking the change Ripper's voice had taken. It had dropped the idleness, and picked up reverence. The small grin had turned into a toothy smile, fangs bared at the scent of fresh blood.

"Yes," Ripper cooed. "I thought so. You needed the old Watcher to do that."

Rayne said nothing. Not daring to trust his voice. He knew the spell had worked. He had seen it work. And this is how his old friend had been all those years ago he told himself, memories had dulled a bit perhaps but the core was still there. The intelligence, the curiosity, the anger locked behind humor. The spell had worked. The Watcher was gone. He had never existed at all.

"Don't worry." Giles continued, assured and calm. He could have been discussing Plato. "I'll take care of your little Slayer for you, Ethan. Then whatever fun you have planned for the Hellmouth…or its inhabitants, can go on as planned."

"It's not that easy." It took a moment for Ethan to find his voice again. "How do you expect to do that? She was trained by the best." That much had been true. "She has defeated me more then once…and anyone else who's tried to stop her."

Ripper looked proud as her successes were listed. "You see the difference everyone else and me, Rayne…is that I love her."

Ethan's head snapped up.

Ripper was still grinning. He drew two fingers across his jaw line, lost in some memory or thought. "My whole life was supposed to be devoted to hers, to protect her from every little monster I could…and prepare her for every big monster I couldn't. I have no doubt that she is amazing, stronger then she knows and that…she is beautiful." He looked up, the smile never flinching. "And I intend to do exactly what I should have done- I'll watch her, I'll learn from her…and then…when I'm certain I understand her as best I can." Now, the eyes danced. Now, the fangs glinted. "I'll crush that pretty skull. Then, we can try the wine."


	3. Entropy

_"Don't be sorry, be Giles. _

_C'mon, we fight monsters. _

_This is what we do. _

_They show up, they scare us, _

_I beat 'em up and they go away. _

_This isn't any different!"_

**Chapter Three: Entropy**

Ripper rested his elbows on the railing and waited for the blood to fall. Finding hired thugs in Sunnydale had been surprisingly easy, a little too easy had he wanted something elaborate and stylish but Ripper cared very little for those things. He appreciated them of course, as he did fine wine, well-played concertos and women in pearls. Although he seldom indulged in it, he could go ten rounds with any scholar or museum curator about antiquity and he never for a moment denied the fact he had never seen anything more beautiful then the Reading Room of the British Museum.

He loved elegance and beauty. He could admire the craftsmanship but if he wanted something done completely: he had learned to trust instinct and emotion.

Those things the Watchers would have had him spend his entire life repressing.

Ripper was a man of passion, but not of moments like Ethan who loved the vitality of life and it's sweet chaos. Ripper cared more for abstracts. It came from a love of history. He could see the world laid out like Turkish tapestries. He loved Rome. He loved England.

He loved the sight of an empire at the height of civilization, of beauty and elegance- a bastion of playhouses and churches decimated by the simple all-encompassing wave of savagery.

He had discovered as a teenager that Barbarism was the great equalizer; it was no respecter of class, gender, religion or age. He loved watching society torn apart by the very thing they were so proud they had destroyed. It was raw, elemental and his.

Some said that is why he took his name from that famous murderer because he was one violent, prolific example that in the midst of society and beauty one could never escape simple primitive hate. He let them believe it. It made him sound poetic.

He really just liked to see things burned.

Ethan could have his chaos, a cacophony of life resounding off one another. Ripper preferred the aftermath.

He had loved it from the moment he had seen Randall's twisted body and realized what he had done…

Shutting his eyes against the memory, Ripper forced his mind back to the present. He tried not to think of those days, so long ago. There was nothing there for him. Those songs of apocalypses had long since lost their charm. Those ballads tasted bitter.

"Hey little girl…" Ripper cooed into the darkness, plucking the cigarette from his lips and returning his attention to the here and now. "is your daddy home? Does he go and leave you all alone…"

As if he had called her, the Slayer appeared from around the darkened corner. For a moment, he was struck with how wrong the situation was. There was something skewed about the scene that caused him to hesitate as he glimpsed the small blond figure.

He shouldn't be there, he thought, he didn't belong there.

Idly, he scratched the old scars on his shoulder, trying to consol himself in the assurance that his doubts came from the old memories of Randall, and old unspoken regrets that occasionally tried to curl into his brain. Not that he regretted those actions. He couldn't.

Still, the feeling was there. Something quiet and powerful was roaring at him; trying to tell him that something was wrong. He was a man who trusted his senses. It was enough to make him hesitate. Something was wrong.

Ripper stubbed his cigarette angrily against the ledge. He was a patient man but not a calm one. He wanted answers and he was getting the impression that Ethan was holding back information. It only served to darken his already foul mood. Not that he was surprised, he didn't trust Ethan, at least not with his life but there was comfort in familiarity. They had a shared history. They had killed together.

And right now, Ripper was getting the idea that whatever Ethan was withholding could potentially get him killed and that just wouldn't do. He glanced behind him expecting to see Ethan looking uncomfortable and unhappy to be camped out so close to danger, as if to be reassured that the warlock was still there.

Instead, he found darkness.

"Son of a b…" Ripper hissed, darting towards the fire escape. He had to make it to ground level before Rayne ran- or worst, gloated.

He had barely hit the ground when another Slayer turned the corner. He knew what she was the moment he saw her; every fiber in his being told him without question. It made him stop cold.

Two Slayers? No wonder he had been concerned.

Reason shot back telling him it was impossible. The Slayer line relied on the death and succession to work. That's what made the Watchers so vital; their highest mission was to find and train potentials so that if and when they are Chosen, the Slayer is prepared. He had never heard of a case where two Slayers had ever existed. But, still, this was the age of miracles wasn't it? He didn't know how or why it had happened but perhaps when he had them on their knees begging for their lives- maybe he could ask them how.

He might even write about it in his journal.

Pushing against the wall, and letting the shadow envelop him, Ripper watched as the melee began.

* * *

Buffy had gone first for no other reason then she knew Sunnydale better then Faith. This was her town; and although she ridiculed Giles whenever he spoke of it, it was like she could feel the city. Most evenings Sunnydale dozed. Occasionally, the town stirred in it's sleep because there were vampires or monsters and yes, there were times it bled. Or cried. But mostly it was a good city and one that enjoyed life and rhythm. It was soft and homely and most days, without even realizing it, Buffy knew it was a city worth saving.

But sometimes, Sunnydale made her feel small. Not often because she was the Slayer but occasionally when she could pretend she was really only a teenager who somehow was trying to navigate a world that was big and real. This was one of those nights.

And despite herself, without knowing why, she missed Giles.

Last night she had had a dream, one she was gradually getting the impression of reliving as she crossed the boulevard.

In her dream, she had been walking the Docklands on patrol when she heard her Watcher calling. He wasn't in pain, not really, more like he was crying out for her in the midst of a nightmare that somehow bled into her own dream. But, because he was gone and the voice was getting dimmer; Buffy ran to Giles- trying to pinpoint where his voice was, trying to find him.

But she couldn't. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn't catch the voice or make it sound closer; so she kept running through the myriad of streets and back alleys until she had had run straight into-

Angelus.

It was the demon. He stood prone in the middle of the street, in his human guise, looking so much like her lover. There was no anger in his eyes, no malice but somehow- someway- Buffy knew it was not Angel. It was Angelus. She threw up every guard she had, physically and mentally, as she prepared to fight her loved one.

Then, she had wakened and now she found herself patrolling an alley, missing her Watcher because she had had a nightmare.

She felt foolish. And young.

"B, we've been out all night and haven't found squat." Faith whined as she rounded the corner. Buffy had stopped in the middle of the alley; and Faith looked around in distrust. "And…yet more squat."

"You could get home."

Faith smirked, pushing her hands over her head, revealing a flat stomach beneath the tacky wildcat print that was her excuse for a shirt. "Awwww but mom, just five more minutes…I wanna know what happens."

"Quiet." Buffy snapped, as she scanned the darkness. They weren't alone. She could sense it. Readjusting her fingers against the stake in her hand, Buffy started towards the fire escape.

There was a growl suddenly from the opposite corner as two lean figures crept free of the shadows and into the dim light.

The demons were humanoid, moving in halting steps towards the girls. Sleek, with skin the color of black tar, the demons had no faces to speak of. Nor ears, nor claws. Their arms were long and heavily muscled with four long claws the color of obsidian jutting from their hands. Planted in the middle of their palms was the only adornment on the creature's shadowy bodies: some sort of glyph that was raised like a cattle brand.

They shambled towards Buffy, their heads bucking upwards as if they could smell her. Deep guttural howls crawled from their throats, resounding off each other. They stopped for an only a moment as they shifted to stand shoulder to shoulder against the slayers.

"Hey…" Faith drawled, joy peppering her voice. "Hey, I know these guys…" She rolled her weight onto the balls of her feet as she fell into a defensive stand. Buffy followed suit. "I fought two nests back home. They're Gemini demons. Hired thugs mainly, wicked fast and strong…"

"Good." Buffy said half-heartedly, as she continued to stare at the fire escape. She could make out a man standing there, watching but at this distance couldn't see his face. She doubted it was a civilian for two reasons. The first being that he was standing in the direction of where they had come from, and the second, the truly innocent tended to run when faced with something as surreal as the monsters. "How do we kill em?"

"I found beating them till they didn't get up anymore worked real good back in Boston." Faith chirped. It was really disturbing how chipper that girl got sometimes before a fight. "Oh but Buffy, don't let them…"

The demons clasped hands, with the glyphs touching each other and Buffy watched in horror as two more of the black demons pulled free from the ones standing. She watched them duplicate once more in front of her eyes till eight creatures stood where two had only seconds before.

"Touch." Faith deflated. "That's how they breed. Funny trick though…" She said as she drove head first into the original pair, boots and fist flying. "They get weaker the more of them there are."

"Good to know." Buffy drove to the pair on the far right, reaching her hands forward, and grabbing the nearest one's wrist. She tried to snap it, only to be thrown back several fit as the creature howled in pain.

Weak didn't mean defenseless apparently. Jumping to her feet again, Buffy began to push closer towards the fire escape. She had the sneak suspicion that the man who was standing so ominously by them was the reason these thugs had been sent, and Giles had often told her that the best way to end a fight is go directly to the heart of it.

* * *

From the opposite end of the alleyway, Ethan smiled as she saw the other Slayer send two demons hurtling into the glass display of the nearest liquor store for no other reason it seemed then she seemed to like the noise glass made when it broke. She had a knack for chaos that could rival his own. He liked her. Buffy, of course, was all business as she mowed her way towards the building Ripper had picked out for his viewing stand. The Gemini demons were only slowing her down.

That had been the plan, though. Ripper had no intention of killing them quickly. It wasn't his style. He liked to play with his food first. He would have to know that the Slayer and her friends were content in the knowledge of their certain victory, before he beat them.

A memory stirred in the back of Ethan's mind from when he watched Ripper do the exact same thing to a nest of Vampires. Ripper had somehow convinced their friends, Thomas, Deirdre and Philip to tramp into what they thought was a war, but as Ethan realized later was only a grudge. Ripper had been after revenge and he had used his friends to get it.

He would have used anything to get what he wanted.

Ethan remembered seeing the aftermath of what Ripper had done. It hadn't been some clever affair in the midst of daylight, safe and secure, as he would have done. No, Ripper had given them every advantage in the battle for no other reason then he had wanted to them to have everything and _still_ lose.

It had been risky, and almost cost Ethan his life. Looking back, he realized that's when things first started to go bad when he had glimpsed something in Rupert that he hadn't understood then, and feared now.

He wondered why he was remembering it now.

The demons had split again, and now three were pounding Buffy, trying to overwhelm her by sheer number. For a moment, it seemed to be working. Casting a quick glance up, towards the building, Ethan half-expected to see Giles emerge to go to the Slayer's aid. The shadow did not mood.

"You're nervous." His companion whispered. "Are you having second thoughts about the effectiveness of your magick?"

"The spell will work." Ethan looked back at the Vampire. "But I would be a fool to doubt Ripper's strength."

The Vampire chuckled.

"…or his ability to inspire loyalty in his friends."

"She's not his friend. She's his Slayer." The creature's yellow eyes glinted in the pale light, as he growled out the words. "Watchers are not friends. They're not family. The relationship between a Slayer and her keeper is clear. He wouldn't endanger that."

"And you would know?"

"I was one." The Vampire whispered. "Once."

"So that's what this is about." Now it was Ethan's turn to laugh, as he continued to watch the Slayers move through the thick of their battle. The other one was lovely as she moved, dodging and shoving. Her fists were bloodied, and she limped but still, she gave no sign of even slowing down. Her sheer brutality rivaled Ripper's own. Sometimes, watching creatures like them could so beautiful but mostly it was frightening. "A game of revenge. What did he take from you then? A job?" He motioned to Buffy. "This job?"

"He killed my father."

"You mean your sire."

"No." The Vampire hissed. "My father. And since I cannot return the favor, I'm just going to have to settle for taking everything else."

"He's going to…" Ethan began again and then suddenly became aware of the sensation of being thrown against the wall. The Vampire's hand was on his throat and tightening.

"You've said that part." It growled, licking his fangs with pure visceral rage. "Now, what aren't you saying, mage? You seem obsessed with the idea that Giles is going to come out of this alive."

"I'm…just saying." Rayne gasped, clawing uselessly at the other's hands. "That you've never fought anyone like this before. The spell worked." He began to feel blackness creeping into his mind. "**The spell worked!** But the girl is powerful! Much too powerful to be overcome by despair over the lost of her Watcher and just roll over and die. If she figures he's under a spell, she'll break it and then you'll have a Slayer and a very pissed off mage on your tail, and oh yes, guess what he has been training to go after…"

The creature tightened his grip. "You think she'll save him?"

"Magick's not foolproof." He warned. "Especially not in Sunnydale."

As suddenly as the pain began, it stopped. The Vampire had released Ethan, leaving the old warlock to crumple at his feet. He had that cool slightly disturbed expression that Giles occasionally got while cleaning his glasses. Then, he spun on his heels and began to walk away.

Ethan touched his throat, gingerly, wincing from the pain. "Where are you going?"

"…I am making sure she doesn't try to save him."

Ethan coughed again, as he stumbled to his feet and stumbled backwards away from the Vampire. That discomfort that had begun in his stomach the moment he had seen Giles bleeding on the floor was increasing as he watched it disappear. He was tempted to run then, and would have if he weren't certain that Ripper would hunt him down.

"Ethan!"

He shut his eyes, annoyed. He really should have run. He would have now, but as he turned, he saw Buffy and the other Slayer approach. The remains of the Gemini demons littered the ground. Buffy was carrying a broken piece of pipe that she used as a quarterstaff. She looked pissed.

"You sent them!" She hissed. There was blood above her right eye.

"Who's this?" The other one asked. She hadn't found a weapon but had no scratches on her. She was panting, sweaty and clearly nowhere near being spent.

"Bad guy." Buffy hissed. "Beat him up."

"Gladly." The other girl cheered, moving forward and grabbing Ethan by the front of his shirt.

Then, the ground exploded under them. Ethan was thrown again, this time his head making contact with the hard street. When he looked up, he saw the gaping hole in the street where the Slayer and he had stood not two moments before. The girl was laying several feet in the opposite direction, curled against herself and moaning from pain. Buffy was back into a defensive mode, staring in horror at the new arrival, unable to attack or render aide to her friend.

And there standing serene and calm in the middle of the street, with one hand outstretched and magick crackling through his fingertips was Ripper. He had Buffy's gaze locked on his own.

"You know, you were right to come after me first." He told her, quietly. "But you really shouldn't have turned away. Didn't your Watcher teach you anything?"


	4. Cursed

_"In my experience, there are two kinds of monsters.  
The first type can be redeemed. And, more importantly,  
they want to be redeemed…the second is void of humanity.  
It cannot respond to reason.  
Or love."_

**Chapter Four: Cursed**

Willow woke up with a start, her hands still clutching page 348 and 349 of Hasslemann's Encyclopedia of Phoenician Incantations. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she strained to see the clock on the opposite wall and winced at the time. She had only meant to stop by Giles' home for a few hours after school- to check on his plants and pick up the mail.

Or rather that had been the plan six hours ago, when she had let herself into Giles' apartment, before she spotted his personal collection. Those books he kept locked behind glass and a stern look. She had never been so close to them and their secrets as she had in that moment and surely he wouldn't really mind if he didn't know about it.

Cursing herself, Willow rolled herself off the bed and began to look for her shoes.

There was a man sitting on the patio, flipping through one of Giles' magazines from the pile of uncollected mail waiting for her when she finally exited the apartment.

He smiled when he saw her. It was enough to make her retreat back to the stoop.

The man looked in his twenties, with a long braid trailing down over his shoulder, and the greenest eyes Willow had ever seen. He had a delicate face; a sharp chin, matching an aquiline nose and razor blade lips. His smile was bright and teasing, and for as long as Willow had noticed men and their smiles, she had never called them 'teasing' and had always wondered what that meant until right now.

He unfolded himself from the chair and stood, he was a good foot over her. He was dressed in a dark tweed suit. There was an onyx ring on his pinky finger.

"I know this is going to come off as being very forward," The man said in a clear Irish voice that kind of hummed as he spoke. "and I do hope you don't think me boorish for acting so- but you aren't Buffy Summers, are you?"

"Whoa…huh?" She stammered then quickly, retreated. "…uh…no. I'm not. I'm Willow."

"Willow." The man tasted the name. She began to wonder did she start thinking like trashy romance novels. "Yes. Yes of course. Rupert spoke of you…"

"You know Giles?"

"I do. From back home. My name is Bailey Legend, we worked together…"

"You're a Watcher too!"

Bailey blinked, and whatever statement was forming on his lips stopped abruptly. Those bright green eyes seemed to dim. "…I was going to say the British Museum but you appear to already know the cover story."

"Oh. Yea. Sorry."

"…forgive me, but you're a civilian aren't you? How do you know about Giles' vocation?"

"Well, yea…technically…" Willow muttered, shrugging. "But I help Giles and Buffy a lot…with research and stuff."

"And he allows this?" Bailey made the slightest of gestures, as if he had smelled something foul. "…well, he certainly is his father's son. Isn't he?"

"Huh?"

"Oh nothing." The man returned, shaking his head dismissively. There had to be classes on movements wherever they taught Watchers, Willow thought because neither Giles nor this man was believable. "…may I see Rupert? Can you call him?"

Willow stopped for a moment. "He's…in England. The Council called telling him someone had died…"

Bailey's face darkened, "…he's not here?"

"No. He said…"

"We haven't called him back, I assure you. In fact, I was sent to check on him since it's so close to his father's anniversary…"

"That doesn't make sense. Why would he…"

Bailey raised a hand, moving closer to her. "…I don't have an answer for you, Miss Willow, as to why Rupert would lie to you but I assure you that the Council will get to the bottom of this. And time might be of the utmost importance…" He reached his hand towards Willow. "Come with me."

"How about no. Why don't you step away from her?" A new voice called through the darkness. Willow and Bailey both snapped their attention to the new arrival but it was Bailey who reacted first. He stepped closer to Willow.

Now it was Angel's turn to smile something teasing and cruel. "That isn't what I asked…"

"I know who you are." Bailey whispered.

"And I can smell what you are from here." Angel returned. "Step away."

Willow was frantically getting the impression the rules had changed but the only thing she was certain of was her growing confusion. Angel was taunt, nervous enough to appear frozen in place. Bailey, however, was still as languid as he had first been sitting on the chair. She glanced between the two for a long time, before feeling her knees going weak. "Oh…_oh…god_." She muttered, before trying to dart away.

Bailey's arm shot out, snatching her arm. "You aren't going to risk her life, Angelus and I'm not here to hurt her. So let's be civil."

"What are you doing here, then?" He returned. "Where's Giles?"

Willow took several long moments to watch Angel's impassive face to understand. The other Vampire's steel grip kept her from moving, but thus far, Bailey had been honest. He could have killed her the moment she had stepped out of the apartment. He hadn't. And, although Willow couldn't understand why she thought this, she was certain he was a Watcher. Or had been once. "What did you do to him?"

Bailey's eyes were dark and hungry. He glanced at her only for a moment before returning them to Angel. "Nothing. I did not lay a finger on him. But I've been watching him for years, waiting for him to fall. Knowing he would…I've come to warn you."

"Compassion isn't one of our traits, friend." Angel growled. "Try again."

"Do you think I wanted this?" Bailey hissed. "What I've become? I had no choice. Neither did he, but that doesn't matter. Not in the Council's eyes. We still need to be put down; like the animals we've become, eh Angelus?"

"Let her go and we'll talk."

"It's too late for talk." Bailey muttered. "If he is already lost, like I know he is, it's much too late. The best you can do is contain him before he taps the power of the Hellmouth. If you care at all for him, either of you…" Then again, Bailey's green eyes darted towards Willow and she could almost sense the truth of his words. "You'll stop him before he follows the same path as Loring…"

"Interestingly enough, I'm not too concerned with the warnings of a man who has a girl hostage. You've given me every reason not to trust you."

Bailey's entire body seized up with something like sadness. "…then you've already lost."

He growled then, his demon side appearing instantly, as he dived to Willow's neck. Angel pushed forward in the next beat, Bailey retreated two steps before throwing Willow towards Angel and darting to the street. Willow screamed as she collided with Angel, hands digging into his chest to steady herself.

"Wha…what just happened?" She shrieked. "How did you…where did you come from…"

"I was looking for Buffy," Angel supplied. "I was going to catch up with her at the graveyards but she never made it. I thought perhaps Giles had her…studying…"

"Angel. Giles' is gone. He told Buffy that he was going to England two days ago…how did the Vampire know…Angel, what's happened? Where's Buffy?"

* * *

Time was very still for a moment. Ethan stayed down, unmoving as he watched the scene unfold before him. For several minutes, Buffy hadn't spoken and Ripper; with his hand still outstretched and all his senses tapped into the Magick pulsing around them, had been content to let her muse. The other Slayer had yet to stir. And Buffy was just staring at Giles with a look of utter surprise and shock.

"Giles," She finally choked out. She was still on alert, aware of her mentor's proximity to unseen force and how easily, he could invoke them. "…what's going on? …what's happened to you?" And then, in the smallest voice he had heard from a teenager, yet alone a Slayer. "Giles, please…don't."

For his part, Ripper did not move. For anyone who did not know him, he would have appeared deaf to her words but his eyes told a different story. They did not soften, nor tear away from watching the Slayer. But, it was there. That something Ethan feared; Ripper's passion, his heart.

It was deadly and right now, it was raging in confusion.

It made his stony features hard and angry. "You know me?"

"You're my Watcher." She whispered. "I'm your Slayer…please…what's happened? What has happened to you…what's going on here? Giles, please…" She shook her head then, dropping her guard for a moment. "This cannot be happening. This cannot be real…"

"On your guard!" Ripper snapped, suddenly. His voice was strained. It was then his hand trembled just slightly. "I could kill you right now, if you drop your guard! Do not…"

"…Giles, don't you recognize me? It's Buffy. I'm Buffy. You have to remember me. You have to remember you. You don't want to do this…whatever's happened…whatever has…" Ethan thought he heard the Slayer's voice crack. "I'm your Slayer. You've been my Watcher since I came here. You have to remember me. Please…don't…"

"I'm…not your Watcher, girl. I've never been a Watcher. I'm not what you say I am…"

"YES YOU ARE!" She shouted, dropping her shoulders. "You're **my** Watcher! Giles…this cannot be happening…my God, this _cannot_ be happening…what's going on, tell me!!"

"Fight." Ripper hissed. His body seemed to be trembling then. "Fight back…"

"I can't fight you."

And as smoothly as one might slide in and out of a mask, the trembling stopped and Ripper smiled. "Well then," He cooed, "That should make this infinitely easier."

Throwing up both hands, he sent another blast of Magick that sent the Slayer hurtling towards her comrade but unlike Faith, Buffy took the hit by rolling her body, landing shaking on her feet and moving to stand. No sooner had she regain her footing then Ripper sent another hex her way, this time a pure wall of flames. He ducked under the heat to run to Ethan's side, grabbing him by the collar and throwing one more holocaust towards his student.

Buffy dodged each torrent deftly, so much so, that Ethan had to wonder if Ripper was using his full strength. The way Buffy could defect Ripper's every move seemed so natural.

But of course it would be, he thought grimly; she had trained with them for the past three years. The thought seemed to occur to Ripper at the same time because the next blast he sent towards the unconscious body forcing Buffy to fall back to the defense of her friend.

The trick bought Ripper what he wanted: an escape.

Forcing Ethan to his feet, Ripper scrambled towards the haven of the darkness and disappeared.

* * *

It wasn't till they had reached the safety of the beach house that Ripper turned on him. Ethan scrambled to his feet, backing away. "I can explain!"

"Do it then." Ripper hissed. "And quickly."

"…well, It's quite simple you see…you've…been…"

"You are taking too damn long." Ripper hissed, pushing off from the door and advancing towards Ethan. He always got that way when he felt trapped. "What about I just kill you and raise you. Surely you'd answer quicker as a corpse- and I've learned those lessons from my dear…"

"You're under a curse!" Ethan shouted before Ripper's hands touched him. "I was paid to curse you! Nornir's Gamble to be exact."

Ripper stopped but he did not retreat. Instead, and for the first time since he was that bleeding half-dead Watcher on the floor did Ripper's ever present nervous energy seem to recede. There was no malice in his eyes, just a curiosity and the smallest hint of something else. Hurt? Surprise? Betrayal?

Ethan felt as if something dark and ugly had left as he stared into the eyes of his former friend. Something Ethan didn't realized Ripper was missing had returned, if only for a moment.

"Nornir's Gamble requires the subject to have died." The voice was deadly calm.

"Technically, the rite requires only a dying hero- not a dead one. You…came pretty close but you wanted to live. That's why it worked, after all." Ethan struggled, looking up. He was able to keep the gaze for half a second. "You weren't ready to go."

"…that curse…" Giles continued, unaffected by Ethan's words. "…it changes the very fabric of a person, their soul. You killed me and created something else…what did you make me into?"

"This. You. Ripper. Before…you fled after Randall, you returned the Watchers and became one of them. You bought into every lie you use to hate, and you kept your head low enough to rise to prominence until you became a Watcher to the Slayer."

"That girl?"

"That girl."

"She was just trying to save her Watcher…" Ripper murmured, turning away and staring at the ocean.

"She's too late." Ethan watched his friend's back. "Her Watcher died two days ago. Didn't he?"

Ripper was silent. The old Warlock continued to stare into the distance watching as wave after wave crashed upon the beach. The morning was beginning to peer from behind the horizon, painting the black water pink and purple. It was surreal, almost magical and for a moment Giles or Ripper or both seemed to be lost in the mysteries. Ethan shifted uncomfortably, trying not to lend too much attention to the stillness.

Ripper's nervous, violent energy was still there. That perfect chaos that resounded so loudly through the Magicks was still contained just barely under his skin. Ethan could sense it in the atmosphere. It was cruel and feral. It was also hungry, but for revenge or just the sheer pleasure of anarchy, he couldn't say. But he could feel it pressing against Giles' will, threatening to break the surface and had he been truly Ripper- the one Ethan remembered from the days of their youth, it would have already won.

But he was still alive.

And he was alive only because the Watcher had remerged. Ethan had been right to assume that the only thing that could truly defeat Ripper was his own will; driven by a fear of fully giving himself over to the Magicks that claimed their allegiance. It hit him then, as he watched the man watch the ocean that he had seen bits of this back in their days with Eyghon and their dead friends. It was only glimpses, of course, and brief ones like the way the sun caught a wave just right as it collided with the beach and became something beautiful, bright and terrible.

Rupert Giles was never meant to be a monster. The word was too small for him but just as fiercely as he knew that; Ethan knew Rupert never should have become a Watcher.

He was not a man of duty, or destiny.

Men like Ethan Rayne and Rupert Giles were never meant to shamble along some preordained path; tossed and thrown about by the Fates to a life they really had no chance to decide. He knew that. Just as he knew the world wasn't neat or orderly. It was chaotic and disharmonious and it was consuming.

What he did not know, however, was what Rupert Giles would decide when both paths were laid out before him.

He hadn't chosen that when Randall had died, after all; he had simply ran to a group of people who made sure he wouldn't have to face those questions.

He didn't have that now. Giles would have to stare at those questions now, twenty years later, and see the world for all its emptiness and disorder. It was laid out before him like the beach, the rising sun and the waves that collided one after another.

Giles could be consumed by the chaos, accepting his duty or could he choose something else and still risk drowning. That was fate. Either way, he would die. It was up to him to decide the manner.

Ethan waited.

The sound began so small, he thought he imagined it but steadily it grew, rising from the other man's stomach and traveling up his throat till it made his shoulders shake. The laughter was half-choked out, half-barked and it rumbled. It made him sound mad. When he finally turned to face Ethan several moments later, Ethan saw tears in the man's eyes.

And then, Ripper smiled.


	5. Break

"_It's not over. _

_I suppose you know that. _

_He'll come after you, particularly. His profile... _

_He's likely to strike out at the things that made him the most human." _

**Chapter Five: Break**

Bailey Legend was a young man when he died, and a Watcher. The rest he doesn't really remember the details of how he died or why; only that he did and that when he did something broke both inside him and in the world about him. He wants to believe that he died for something, as Watchers hope they do, but the more time passes and the less he ages, the more he sees that the world does not age either does Bailey begin to understand. Something broke a long time ago for him and it cannot be brought back. He wonders if it was innocence but he doubts it. Watcher families are many things but they have never been innocent and he grew up under the guarded eye of the Council, knew the truth about the world. The real truth. The one that drives humans into churches or bars, into cults and families.

He knows that there are things in the shadows that wound, and bite. He knows there are ways to die that do not end in death and he knows that more often then not, innocent people are hurt in ways that not even monsters should endure and that most time they are injured for the sake of mere boredom or amusement or sheer happenstance. He knows how fragile everything is, and how readily and wholly something can fracture.

He was a Watcher once and he saw when the world ended for him.

Rupert Giles did it, and what's worst, he didn't even wear the face of Ripper when he did it. He was wearing the face of a Watcher, a brother. It happened very quickly and without a second thought. So easily Rupert moved, so intent on his purpose and so determined to see it through that the man hadn't even broken stride as he pushed forward- calling on all sorts of obscene and terrible Magicks to work his will. When it was over, the Crossroads had been sealed and his father was destroyed.

Being dead, Bailey could not touch Rupert. Not so close to the Crossroads; not with the Magicks Rupert was tapped into pulsing so fiercely through the Ripper's veins. In truth, Bailey had been certain then those years ago that in that instant the Magicks would have consumed Rupert too, as they had done with Loring; Bailey had been so certain he'd see Giles for what he really was there in that abandoned cemetery that he would see true evil was. Bailey might have been a Vampire, but he was still humane if not human. He knew what he was, he knew he could be something more.

Creatures like Rupert, like his father before him were primal, unintelligent. They were somehow connected to forces they had no right to tap let alone manipulate for their own desires. Bailey had been certain then, that when the Council saw what Giles had done- to his father, what forces he had called upon- they would hunt him as they hunted the sort of creature Bailey had become. But what had they done instead?

They had given the beast a Slayer.

They thought they had the Ripper trained, maybe Giles himself even believed that. Bailey knew better. Once he had changed into the sort of monster Giles had been born as, he knew; the Council was right to hunt down such monsters. They were like fault lines or Hellmouths, dangerous and destructive forces that were just waiting for that moment...

To break.

He'd show them.

* * *

"How's Faith?"

"More shook up then hurt. She said she'll be ready to patrol tonight…but," There was a brief pause, and then Buffy continued, steely and emotionless. "Um, I'm going to have Angel come along tonight when we go. Whatever's going on, we have to find out fast…before something happens."

Willow's hand flew out, grabbing Buffy's shoulder and steadying her friend even though the Slayer never faltered. In fact there was nothing on the outward display of her turmoil but Willow knew Buffy better then that. There was distance in Buffy's eyes, as she tried desperately to put something between the hell she was feeling and the hell she found herself in.

Buffy spun at the touch, "…you didn't follow Bailey? You didn't try and figure out where he went…or what…"

"I told you, Angel didn't want to leave me alone. He took me home."

"So he didn't tell you what he wanted?"

This was the tenth time Willow had gone over her encounter with Buffy, but if she grew tired of the interrogation she made no sign of it. Shaking her head, vigorously, she continued. "No. He just said he was waiting for it to happen…and I know Angel doesn't believe him; but I think he was telling the truth."

"Giles isn't evil." Buffy snapped. "Whatever's happened we can undo."

Willow blinked, hesitating slightly. "I meant…about him being a Watcher. He…just felt like one. I'm going to check Giles' books to see if I can find any reference to him- or Giles' father."

"What does he have to do with anything?"

"Bailey kept mentioning him." Willow continued smoothly, undisturbed by the fact she was once again repeating herself. She knew that barring Giles' presence Buffy would begin to rely on her more of understanding in their predicament. "Even if he was trying to throw us off, there might be something we need to know that can help us…understand what's gone on."

Buffy was only vaguely listening. Those blue eyes had turned far off again, and Willow knew she was thinking ahead to tonight. Even Willow was thinking about that. Thus far, both girls had only been able to recount last night with mute shock and had yet to move pass it to find a reasonable course of action. She had never felt so lost before, and turning the corner into the library, Willow thought, somewhat childishly she knew, that she would give anything to have Giles back with them.

That thought made her stop cold when she saw the reference table her and her friends had gathered so many times before to plan.

Giles was sitting next to Xander, a study in dark tweed, with his head down in a book and one hand hanging lazily over the back of Xander's chair. Across from him, Oz was likewise curled into a chair, his finger dragging across some line of text he was obviously struggling to read.

"Ah, Buffy." Giles said, smoothly. He glanced dismissively at the wall clock over the doors. "I would have thought you'd arrive sooner but it was foolish of me, I know. Whatever we are facing is second to what you're going to wear." There was the softest of beats. "…nice shoes by the way."

Buffy had stopped cold once more. Then, very carefully, she reached her palm up to her backpack.

Giles arched one fine brow, "Buffy? Is there a problem?" He threw a casual glance over to Willow and hesitated.

Willow sensed it too, like she would have felt furniture in a darkened room without having to touch them. It was the most rudimentary of Magicks, the ability for one Mage to sense another. During the rites and incantations, she had always been aware of Giles' guiding strength and resolve. But it was different now; she could feel Giles' touching the Magicks without use of circle, crystal or anything else. It also almost like he plugged directly into their powers. He was stronger then he ever had been with her.

And there was something pushing in direct conflict with that strength. She couldn't name it, not directly, but it felt static electricity running through her body; the sensation was not painful, but it put her on edge.

Willow had never quite trusted her intuition as much as she found herself doing in these past 48 hours, nor could she explain where this sudden devotion to her instincts came from but it was there; and it was too strong to ignore.

Giles was sizing Willow up too; she could sense his wariness and whatever he read from her, it was enough to put him on edge. The Watcher stiffened.

"Buff?" Xander prodded, oblivious to any tension in the room. "Something up? Thought you'd be happy to see the G-man…"

"Don't call me that."

Oz looked up at Giles' tone, but he too, seemed unaware of anything different. His expression was quiet and pensive. "He has us researching."

"Yea," Xander continued. "We came in to find Giles already burning the midnight oil. He has news of a new Warlock in town, trying to access the Hellmouth for a quick jolt of strength. Giles says he's desperate for the quick fuel."

"It appears he's been out of commission for almost two decades." Giles said with a smile. "That means he'll be forced to do something sloppy. Probably on a full moon since he'll attempt to tap the Hellmouth at it's strongest. You only have about a few days to prepare. Time isn't on your side."

"I won't need time to finish this one off." Buffy snapped. "Xander, Oz…"

"Be careful Buffy, there is a lot at stake here." Giles interrupted, moving his hand from the chair's back to Xander's neck. The threat was so subtle it almost didn't exist at all. "If you act rashly, you might win, yes but the costs will no doubt be devastating."

Buffy's face was a mask. Then, as quickly as she tensed, she forced herself to relax. "He's already made the mistake of making himself known. Last night, he got lucky. It won't be like that next time we meet."

"…wait." Xander exclaimed. "You've fought him already? What can you tell us? Anything might help us…right Giles?" The librarian didn't respond but his eyes were smiling.

"Yea, I fought him." Buffy responded, finding her footing and steadying herself. Despite who she was facing down, Willow felt a pang of pride for her friend's boldness. "He's arrogant, and sloppy. All talk. No bite. I don't think you should worry too much about him, guys." Buffy cocked her head to one side and half smiled. "I can put him down without breaking a sweat."

The Watcher held the Slayer's gaze for a long time without so much as a smile or frown. There was something strange and distant in the old man's eyes. Then, in a voice so quiet it could have been a whisper. "I sincerely hope you are right." He murmured. "Too much has been lost already. Now, to what he will use-" He stood finally, reaching over and plucking the book from Oz's grasp and reading. "Time, again, is working against you both; so he'll stick to familiar spirits, demons who are already bound to this land- this country- the first and most brutal will be the Skinwalkers; I believe the Aztecs called them the Cursed Ones..."

"Werewolves." Oz said, meekly.

Willow felt her blood run cold, as she looked directly at Giles. Surely, he didn't mean…

"It's fairly easy to take control of a transformed wolf if one knows the right incantation." Giles supplied, meeting her eyes without blinking.

_He can't be enjoying this,_ Willow thought desperately, _there was no way Giles could ever do something so savage and enjoy it. But if that was the case why was he smiling?_

She felt her heart breaking. There was nothing more she wanted on earth then to shake the creature before her and demand Giles back. _Change him back…_

The pulse of electricity surged along her spine again. There was powerful magic going on around them.

"Oz himself will have some degree of protection," Giles continued, hesitating only for a moment to look surprised at himself. "…but not much, it will all depend on the proximity he is to him. The Skinwalker incantation he'll invoke will be able to conjure animal spirits however- to take over the body of his victims."

"…like the Hyena?" Xander asked, raising both his eyebrows unhappily.

Giles seemed lost. He glanced quickly at Willow. She felt him push against her will and something in her brain _give _and as she did; she caught a quick flash of memory.

_Giles laying on the floor of an abandoned room; calling for Buffy. He was dying. _

He nodded slowly. "…yes, exactly like the pack." Returning the book to Oz, he snatched another from the table. "Then, there's the sisters he can call upon: Malinche, and Llorona: Malice and Despair. They're vengeance demons, who will prey on the very old and the very young respectively. Buffy…" He drawled, carefully glancing up from the book. "Llorona especially hunts children, drowning them to claim their lives for her own private hell."

"He'll never have the chance." Buffy promised.

Something behind the careful, impassive mask cracked just then. Willow felt it; and behind it she felt something angry and hateful. Giles looked annoyed. "You seem so assured you can destroy him. You aren't taking this seriously."

The electricity surged through Willow, forcing her closer to Giles. There was so much she could _almost_ feel coming off the man likes waves: chaotic and angry something was trying desperately to survive and it was losing against the force that was keeping it at bay. She willed herself closer still, trying to find something like that thread of memory she had seen before.

There was something that hatched in the back of Willow's brain that she clung to desperately; Buffy had been right and their Giles was still in there, somewhere- and he was trying fiercely to defeat the darkness that was running wild.

She thought she could see it in his eyes as he stared down his Slayer.

Buffy was oblivious to the battle being waged in the Magicks around them but for Willow, they were the only thing that mattered. Buffy shifted once more on the balls of her feet. "Anything else he might throw at me?"

Giles put the book down on the table with all the delicate air of a librarian. Gingerly, he removed his glasses and began to clean them. "Just one more. His coup, no doubt, Necoc Yaotl or 'Enemy of both sides'" There was another pause, as if something was trying to break free. Or remain imprisoned. "A demon of chaos and destruction…"

"An apocalypse. That's original."

"He won't do that just yet. First he wants you to suffer. There is nothing more then to it then he wants to bring you pain, Buffy. Do not underestimate his whims."

"You're making it sound like it's awfully personal for this Warlock." Oz began carefully. He had begun to watch Giles with great interest. "But we don't even know his name…"

Giles glanced back at Oz and Xander. Willow felt the battle recede just slightly, and beside, Buffy dropped her backpack and slide into an offensive stance.

"Go on." Buffy told him. "Tell them his name."

Giles glanced at her, returning his glasses to his nose. There was no smile. No malice. He didn't even tense. Willow felt a wave of calm flow over her; the anger had got it's way, the hunger sated. A chilling thought occurred to Willow as she watched the Watcher move very calmly away from the table; he hadn't come to try and reach out for help- to show that he was trying to return to them…

He had come to show them that it didn't matter if he tried. He wasn't coming back.

"His name is Ripper." Giles said calmly. "And…you're going to let him walk out of this school without being followed, or he will quite simply level it and that won't do at all, will it? Are we understood, Slayer?"

"Get out." Buffy said, her voice trembling.

"Ah, there's a smart Slayer and you know, it's a shame really. I was just thinking I could have enjoyed this place." Ripper smiled as he took one last look around the library; to Oz and Xander who hadn't dared to move. To them, he bowed. "We'll meet again, boys, real soon. Oh, and Witch…" He drawled, outstretching his hands and flexing his fingers. Willow felt the Magick turn tense and destructive. He hadn't been bluffing about his exit. She stepped back.

He chuckled at the move. "There are books on my desk." He told her, moving to the door leisurely. "You might enjoy the read. There's a way to contact the Council too. Tell em, I can't wait to see them…"

No sooner did the library doors shut, then Buffy collapsed against the table; her whole body was trembling somewhere between anger and despair. She kept glancing up at Xander and Oz, disbelieving that they were safe.

"Wait." Xander demanded. "Someone wanna tell me what just happened?"

Oz was staring at the old wooden doors. "Something just broke."


	6. Small Moments

_No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. _

_So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are _

_gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that _

_counts. That's when you find out who you are._

_You'll see what I mean._

**Chapter Six: Small Moments**

There is a tree that rests between the worlds called Yggdrasil and if one is to believe that, they must understand that at the foot of this tree rests the Three in One. They have been known by many names over the years, and will take on other faces before time is done. They hold the soul of a person in their careful, gnarled hands and tend to it as it weaves in and out of other lives to create some ornate tapestry that is older then time and memory. When it is needed, they will skim and smooth over catches in the fabric and they will cut out what does not work or smooth over what can be saved. They don't mind much the image their portrait takes because the end result is not really their concern. It is the weaving that matters, the enterprise a soul undertakes before finally when it's sum is due, the thread must be severed. The Romans called them Parcae, the Greek Moirae, the Germans called them Norns and there are many other cultures who give them just as many other names.

One, the Watchers, call them duty.

Rupert Giles, called Ripper now, is their son.

He has known that since he was a boy and there was a time once, however brief, when he had sought to change that. He sought chaos, had tried in some small way to tear out a part of the design and retake his life. He knew he would be punished from the moment he decided to attempt it. But he had to try.

He hated the idea of no choice. He hated the idea that his life, that of his loved ones and his enemies were already played out according to some epic textile. He wanted chaos, the empty places.

He wanted entropy. He wanted choice. He wanted innocence.

He never had it. Watchers were many things but they were never innocent. He had known since he was a child that those illusions were all they were. He knew the truth and he hated them all for it. Had he had the power, he would have damned the world for no other reason then he could. To show them he conquer destiny, to show them all there was something more.

And in another lifetime, on another path, he almost did.

He _almost _remembered it.

Memories had crept into his brain when he had gone to confront the Slayer at her school. It had been foolish and dangerous, but the appeal to see her off balance was too great. It was reckless but funny.

He wondered if the Witch did something to him. He could feel her there in the library, her desperation and hurt. That was impossible. She was much too young to have mastered those dark arts without guidance. If she survived this ordeal and the next ones, he had no doubt she would grow into a powerful witch, but she was not yet.

He couldn't deny what he felt though, the fact that she had demanded him, and he had submitted: if only for a moment.

The Slayer was the same way. The girl so strong she blazed like he did once as a child, something feral and primal. He could tell that from a just a moment standing there watching her prone. She could be great with guidance. She needed a teacher, a strong hand to control her strength until she could do it herself. She would burn out too quick without it. Even those boys who had taken so readily his guardianship had something brilliant and powerful.

For a moment, there in that miserable school, he had felt like he was watching stars being born.

And it had felt natural. Right. Something had danced to his brain there at the library; that he belonged there among that group of motley children. And maybe once, he _had_ chosen that.

Now he would destroy it. He had no use for stars. He just wanted to see the firestorms.

That was his choice. Wasn't it?

He stood angrily, neglecting the texts he was having no luck reading and walked outside to light another cigarette. He watched the waves crash against the sand, and pictured the three sisters again. He could almost feel their hands as they cradled his life: a rope wounded and readjusted, like some game.

Gingerly, Ripper rubbed his shoulder, over the old Rune scars he didn't remember having, and smiled. He'll tear down destiny. One thread at a time if he has to.

* * *

History was repeating itself.

Angel knew that the moment Buffy had appeared on his doorstep in that evening, with tears in her eyes and the story of what had happened in the library.

He had been silent as she recounted it, careful to recount every detail and mannerism. She knew anything could have been a clue; that any detail, no matter how small, could provide her with some hint as to how she should react and move. Her Watcher had taught her that. He strived to teach her what she needed to survive. It was up to her to use them now.

Which is why Angel wondered why she was ignoring her instincts now; because it was clear she was.

He had known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this day would come. It made sense. The prophecy said a Slayer was alone and it was true; for a moment that might be cheated, ignored. She might have friends, a Watcher and for a time they might even provide her with some sense of hope and home.

But destiny worked like the tide. Sooner or later, it forced it's will on people and those who tried to stop it would simply be destroyed. He's been around long enough to understand that. The "Is" would always collide with the "What Must Be." Fate was cruel that way, but he learned his lesson.

And he knew that Buffy knew it too, somewhere inside of her that she was ignoring. Giles wouldn't have withheld it from her. Right now, she should be preparing for her battle; taking the information Giles had given her and forming a plan of attack. The Warlock had slipped, he had taunted the Slayer, thinking she would be unable to react because of the face he wore.

He was going to be proven wrong.

But instead of acting as she should have been; Buffy was shadowboxing across the room. Emotionless and dedicated, she went through the exercise as if nothing was different. It was happening again. He wondered how she could stand it.

But that was the thing, he realized.

She kept moving. Buffy was being held together by will and the knowledge that if she stopped fighting, even for a moment, she's going to break apart.

The fight, even in practice, made sense because it was pure. She is using a technique Giles taught her. Angel can see the Watcher's imprint like some people can hear a composer in their music. Buffy moved like a force of nature, something primal and feral. Giles must have seen that so he kept her dancing. He kept her fighting to keep her alive.

He loved her. He was trying to kill her.

It felt too familiar. Angel can't stand it. He'd kill the old man before Giles had a chance to touch her. Buffy would kill him before he had a chance to touch Giles. Buffy is going to try and save him, he's aware of that because she tried to save him.

She'll just fail again, not because he wants her too but because he knows the way prophesy works. A Slayer stood alone, without friends, lovers or family.

One by one, Angel knew, they'd all leave her even if they didn't mean to. This is just how the Watcher did.

"…you'll be strong enough when the time comes." He said, not caring if she understood. The words were spoken to reassure him just as much as they were for her. "To end this."

The silence hangs in the air for a long time as Buffy finished her exercise. He can see so much of the Watcher in his Slayer. He thought for a moment, she would turn and stare off into space then, in some attempt to connect fragments into a whole.

"No." She drawled, "I won't be." Those blue eyes find him. "But I'll do it anyways and I think he knows that."

"Buffy?"

"I kept trying to figure out why he did this to me." She looked up, dragging her feet together as she walked to him. "And that's all I can think of, that he wanted to know." She struggled, as if the words had become stone in her mouth. "He wanted to see if I could face him without blinking. That's why he came to the library, why he acted like he was still mine." She froze then. Her features struggling to keep free of emotion, struggling to keep Ripper from having any victory, no matter how small. "It was so stupid, so arrogant of him and I kept…trying to figure out why he would do that. If he was really Giles, he would never have been so stupid. It had to be some spell, some demon that took his face. It was a slip. It was a mistake."

"Buffy, he's not the same man…"

"And then I realized that he was. He was still Giles. Or Ripper. Both. Neither." She shook her head, throwing a hand to silent him. "He knew what he was doing. He would either annoy me to fight him with my full strength, or he would break me right then and there and the rematch wouldn't matter. He wanted to show me he could get to my friends, my home…he wanted to show me he would go after them. He told me what he was going to do; like it was some training session. He wanted to show me that he was the same man who had taught, and protected me…because I needed to know that."

Angel turned to stare at the corner of the table, where the weapons for tonight were laid out in wait. "So what now? Even if he is the same man, that doesn't change that he poses a threat- Buffy you can't…"

"Don't." She snapped. "Of all the people in this world, you can't tell me not to let my heart cloud my judgment. You know it won't. When the time comes, because I have to, I'm going to stop him. He knows me. He knows how I'll fight. He just wanted to make sure I'd fight."

There was a knock on the door, and a moment later Faith appeared on the doorstep, a sort of quiet, grim determination on her face. Her eyes practically lit up when she saw the hatchet on the table. She didn't so much as comment, as she lifted the weapons lovingly into her hands.

Buffy swallowed, as she picked up a crossbow. She threw a glance to Angel. "So let's fight."

* * *

There's no escaping destiny they say. There is no escaping Yggdrasil or the sisters that rest at the roots. Our lives, from birth to death, are just ropes and threads and corners that three old biddies merge and weave according to some grand plan and when they are done; they sever your one small contribution, thinking nothing of it. This is the truth for all who exist, be it demon, or human or idea. There is no tearing at the fabric of fate, no true chaos.

Bugger that.

Ethan lit the most recent of a long line of cigarettes and turned his attention back to the area of floor where Ripper was sat. He wondered how long a man could read without going mad. He looked very much like that young Warlock he had been a long time ago, in London, as he cradled the texts and muttered to himself in Spanish. Ethan felt the magick tense.

On the bed behind them the girl moaned and twisted in some nightmare. There were speckles of blood staining the bed sheets, Ripper's latest conquest. He always had liked to take innocent things. She was young, and naked, beautiful in some sad soulful way. Ripper had brought her home a few hours ago, coming home from a night spent in bars. She was had been lost. She thought she recognized him. One smile, a careful glance and the girl was completely smitten.

Ripper had big plans for her.

Ethan was disgusted. There was a line between savage and chaotic. He hadn't remembered Ripper being so careless. Of maybe, he had just ignored it. He had been very young then, after all, and Ripper had something Ethan had wanted. For that, he could ignore many things. Things were too chaotic back then, he rarely saw the faces.

Ripper only had that sort of patience.

Outside, the ocean roared as it came to shore and the sky was beginning to light up with the morning sun.

"…what was she about?" He demanded, jutting the cigarette at the girl.

Ripper looked up from the book, glanced over at the girl as if he barely realized she was there. "Oh…I needed her. Malinche and Llorona require human hosts who died in the state of their natures: despair and malice…as for the other thing, I was bored and she trusted me." Another beat, as he began to read again. "I was her librarian, you see…"

Ethan looked at him, straining to find the control in his friend's eyes. All he saw was the anger, wild and consuming. "…she's not dead."

"No." He admitted. "Not yet." He checked his wristwatch and fidgeted. "…that will come later. Right now, it's time for a delivery." There was a crash from the other room. Ethan froze as he hit the wall. Ripper, on the other hand, was already on his feet and heading for the door.

Six Gemini demons stood in the living room. Four were carrying a smoldering frame in their arms, arms and feet of the victim stretched out and covered by a heavy woolen blanket. The other demons had taken a knee in front of Ripper, motioning to the writhing figure like it was the prized stag.

"Ah…Aha." Ripper laughed, walking past the two and heading straight for the victim. "You did beautifully boys, exactly as I hoped. And you got him in the morning yes? As he was coming back from patrol, yes? It is important the girls did not see you."

One of the demons nodded.

"Good. I would really hate to ruin the surprise." With one swift moment, Ripper snatched from the blanket off the prisoner's head. Ethan pulled the shades over the huge windows, before turning to see Ripper's latest quarry. It was a Vampire, struggling against the Gemini and staring up at Ripper with a look of pure rage. Silently, he felt Ripper throw up several protection wards, meant to keep the demon in its place.

"Oh yes, I have big plans for you." Ripper whispered, finally squatting to be eye level. "You wouldn't believe how happy I am to see you, Angel."


End file.
